“Remember when you used to work on Thayer Street in the Kebab truck? No one understood why you did that all the pakis were like isn’t this your friend why is he selling kebabs?”
I have to admit it was a bit absurd. I didn’t even work in a nice kebab truck, and out of the dozens of food trucks it was probably the shittiest.
Umar jokes with me but he knows. He knows that in my third year of the bachelors I was scraping the bottom. I had taken all my courses pass/fail, and so my grades were excluded from my transcript. I ended up skipping all my lectures and the only reason to get out of bed was for my shift at the kitchen in the cafeteria.
I don’t even know what kind of character I thought I was playing. I had shaved my head, started smoking a lot and devoted inordinate amounts of energy and concentration into my tomato cutting job in the basement of the kitchen. Back and forth I went between the cooler room and my station. I must have handled thousands of tomatoes. I can happily report I can still eat them.
Umar used to sit with my on the sidewalk outside during my breaks. I wore my cap and smoked while he entertained me with his machine gun voice. I didn’t say much but him filling the silence was comforting.